So Sam set off in one direction, and Mrs. Trailey, very gingerly, in another; whilst Trailey, as arranged, minded the horses and the other things with dreamful fidelity. Esther and Bert started out separately, but, finding solitude very inimical to the discovery of corner stakes, they quickly came together again, sat down, said what a lovely day it was, and then commenced a dialogue packed full with hidden meanings.
Very soon a shrill halloo from the direction in which Mrs. Trailey had gone brought Sam hurrying towards her.
"Here's one," she said, pointing to a burnt stick which jutted up from the ground among a number of large-sized badger holes.
"That ain't a corner post, missis. Them post-s they put rahnd these farms is made of iron, wiv a piece of tin on 'em."
"Ridiculous, Sam!" retorted Mrs. Trailey. "How can a post be made of iron?"
"Don't know, ma'am, but that bit of wood ain't wot we're lookin' for."
The task they had set themselves was not unlike the searching for a nest in a ten-acre field. The odds were against them. Nevertheless, it was the only method they could use, apart from securing the services of a competent surveyor, or land guide.
Before long, corner posts having steadfastly refused to show themselves, Sam wandered along to confer with Bert. Clearing his throat loudly to signal his approach, he came upon the love-smitten pair round the bend of a poplar bluff. They were apparently absorbed in watching the antics of a couple of crows building a nest of sticks in one of the trees of a wood opposite.
"We can't find no blinkin' corner post-s," said Sam—"can you?"
"No," replied Bert, with a very straight face, "we've had no luck at all. What d'you suppose we'd better do?—move on a little farther?"